


(and when i touch you) i feel happy inside

by brokendevil



Series: prompts, one-shots and other drabbles [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexaweek2018, F/F, Minor talk of children in hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendevil/pseuds/brokendevil
Summary: At least by the third time, Clarke isn't technically grabbing a strangers hand.Or, five times Clarke held Lexa's hand first and one time Lexa held Clarke's.[Written for 'Meet Ugly' prompt for Clexa Week 2018]





	(and when i touch you) i feel happy inside

**Author's Note:**

> As always, unedited and unchecked. 
> 
> Yell at me on Tumblr: brokendevilwrites.

**I.**

When it happens the first time, Clarke laughs.

It was so obnoxiously accidental that it is almost painful and the embarrassment that comes from it emanates from everyone standing in the street. She remembers people sitting outside of a coffee shop looking at them, taking in the scene with bemused smiles and Clarke...God, Clarke remembers that smile and those eyes and how she was overwhelmed with the feeling that this was just the start of something.

\--

“I just don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. They want us to encourage young minds but they put all of these restrictions in place,” Bellamy sighs and Clarke can’t help but feel for him. While this is only their second ‘official’ date together she’s known him for years and, honestly, she’s never met a teacher so passionate. He fights for his students, for their rights and education, and each time he meets a brick wall it deflates him a little more. “Sorry, I know. No work talk. It just frustrates me.”

Clarke shakes her head, amused. Bellamy apologising for being devoted to his students isn’t something he needs to do but Clarke also knows, from Octavia, that he’s been nervous about this date for a while and she can easily forgive him. Her own nerves stem from the fact that this is her _first_ date in a long time and less about the person she’s with, but she can ignore that. Bellamy is sweet, and kind, and he has a protective nature that she can’t deny she enjoys.

And, for now, that security is enough.

“I understand. I have the same frustrations at the hospital but those in power will always set limits,” she shrugs. They both know it’s true but they both want to do _more_ and she’s peaceful in the knowledge that she has a friend--a _date--_ like Bellamy who feels the same way about injustice. Her distraction comes in the form of beautifully formed cakes in a large window on her right and she lets herself be taken over there, a happy grin on her face. “Look at these.”

“I thought we were finding somewhere for lunch,” Bellamy chuckles from next to her but Clarke scoffs and ignores him, her eyes taking in the intricate details of the cake, the icing that seems to shine, decorations that only a steady hand could form and make so pretty. “Do you want one?”

“No,” Clarke replies immediately but her eyes shine with humor and she runs a hand through her hair as she stands up. “I’m not being responsible for being the person who takes a slice out of that cake and completely ruins what it looks like. Come on.”

When she goes to walk away she holds her hand out to hold Bellamy’s, but is surprised to find her hand surrounded by soft warmth and cool fingers that tense almost immediately.

She turns, quickly, to look at the hand she’s holding and her mouth drops in embarrassment at the young woman standing next to her looking equally as confused as she is. The brunette looks at their joined hands for a few seconds before she pulls her hand back, a sudden loss filling Clarke, and she laughs politely at the mistake. “I know the cakes are lovely but you don’t need to hold a stranger's hand to contain the excitement,” she says, and Clarke is too mortified to do anything but stare at the woman for a full thirty-seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” she groans, Bellamy’s laughter genuinely not helping the situation in the slightest and she closes her eyes like it will erase the last minute from her memory. “I thought you were him.”

“I won’t lie. If you think my hands are like his then I’m afraid I can’t take that as a compliment,” the woman laughs, completely at ease it seems with a stranger holding her hand in public. It takes Clarke a long second to open her eyes and when she does she’s met with the most beautiful smile, complete with bright green eyes that have filled with humor and amusement. “However if he does have hands like mine, he’s lucky.”

“He doesn’t,” Clarke tells her and immediately flushes at the raised eyebrow she gets in reply, the little action causing a small bundle to tighten in her stomach. “Yours are bigger.”

And it’s there, in that moment, Clarke decides she’s never walking down that street again.

\---

She’s just getting into bed when her bedroom door opens and she doesn't even turn to greet her housemate, already aware that she has no concept of boundaries anyway and they’ve known one another too long now to start setting petty rules that just go ignored.

“So how did it go?”

“It was fine.”

Niylah laughs, the bed bouncing softly as she sits down and Clarke rolls her eyes but sits up against the headboard anyway. When her friend is like this there’s no use in acting like she has any way of getting her to quit. “Just fine? He’s not here tonight so I’m going to assume he was a gentleman.”

“It’s Bellamy. ‘Gentleman’ isn’t usually the word given to him by the women he’s been with,” Clarke smirks and then instantly feels rotten; he’s grown since his philandering days but it’s still easy to tease and joke about her friend. “No, it was nice. He’s nice.”

“ _Nice_ and _Fine._ Those are the words everyone longs describes their date as,” Niylah smiles but it isn’t supposed to be mean. Of all the people who understand Clarke’s hesitation to try something with Bellamy, it’s Niylah. He’s lovely and generous and he isn’t difficult to look at; but that’s exactly where it ends. Countless people saying they belong together won’t change that. “Are you going on another date with him?”

Clarke shrugs, unsure. “I think we said we’d meet for coffee. Third time's a charm, right?”

“Sure,” her friend says but it doesn’t feel honest. Instead the older woman bumps at her shoulder and encourages more out of her, the supportive pillar she needs. “What happened on the date today? Where did you go?”

“Polis. It’s that new Greek place down by Butler and Fifth. We went for lunch,” she tells her but her face flushes as she remembers what happened on her walk there. “We were a little late because I kind of held a strangers hand instead of his.”

At that, Niylah reanimates and grins at her. “Tell me everything.”

**II.**

Her feet are killing. Her back aches like she’s been carrying around a fully-grown man all day. Her hands keep shaking and she’s had a headache for, what feels like, the past week. The truth is though she’s been feeling like shit since two-year old twins were diagnosed with leukemia and sent under her care at the hospital, their eyes meeting her with hope that she’ll create magic and make them better overnight.

But the subject is too sad, and the patients too young, and she knows that so when the barback asks how she is she smiles and shrugs with a gentle, “I’m fine, just tired.” She orders a portion of nachos and a large beer and walks away from the bar to let herself sink into the plush booth that, if it wasn’t midday in a busy city, she’d happily fall asleep in.

She people watches as she waits for her food. There’s two men sitting together on one side of a booth, failing spectacularly at pretending they’re not in love, and laughing quietly in each others space. To their left is an older gentleman, engrossed completely in his newspaper, and ignoring the steaming cup of coffee on the table. Behind the bar, the young man who had seated her works continuously stocking up and cleaning his area and she smiles at him when he turns around and catches her eye.

“Here you are,” breaks her from her people-watching trance and she looks up at the waitresses, leaning back to give the girl space to place her drink down, and she takes out her notepad swiftly. “Have you ordered at the bar or do you need anything else today?”

“I’ve already ordered,” Clarke smiles, bringing her beer closer to her and her stomach groans a little at the thought. She sort of needs it though and she ignores the implications of drinking at noon by justifying that she’s been awake over twenty-four hours. “But can I order a club sandwich to go, please? I’m going to need something when I wake up and I can barely cook when I’m awake.”

The waitress laughs softly but nods anyway, jotting it down. “Would you like that to come before you leave?”

“Please,” Clarke nods and she knows she’s tired when she feels like she wants to cry at how nice everyone in this place is. It’s ridiculous, and she knows she’s probably pushing herself too much, but nice people are genuinely rare people to come across and it fills her with warmth. “Thank you.”

Nodding, the girl simply takes her order and moves away. It leaves Clarke in a limbo, much like when her dad died when she was seventeen, of watching everyone else carry on their lives without any regard to what is going on with her. It’s a selfish thought, almost, but she remembers the anger she held when she saw children laughing and people on dates and friends texting on the day of her dad’s funeral. And it’s almost the same; twelve hours ago she had to tell two devastated parents that their twins had leukemia and this bar is full of positivity.

She needs sleep, she decides. And after her first sip of her beer immediately asks the waitress for a water when she brings over her nachos.

\---

She’s so tired that she ends up ordering a _Lyft._ She doesn’t live far enough away to really justify the money she about to spend on a taxi home but she doesn’t trust herself to a) stand at a bus stop and actually get off at the right stop, b) hail down a cheaper taxi or, c) walk. In her mind she reminds herself that she works hard and she didn’t want to go immediately home to bed because that would mean falling asleep in the afternoon to wake up early evening and she’s heading into three days off, she doesn’t want to start it on a bad sleep cycle. Mentally she calculates if she does some laundry and tidies her apartment, she can get into bed early evening and sleep enough to wake up at a reasonable hour the next day.

If she’s anything, she’s a planner.

A notification pings on her phone and lets her know the car is five minutes away. It gives her time to hustle and since she’s already paid she stands up to go to the bathroom. The lighting only serves to remind her how tired she actually is and she purposefully ignores her reflection as she splashes herself with cold water, the temperature doing nothing to soothe the redness of her eyes and she reminds herself once, twice, three times that this is her lifelong passion and that it’s worth it in the long run. Everyone has bad days, she reasons, this one is hers.

When she walks out she smiles at the barback and he smiles back, running a flustered hand through his hair at the sudden increase in customers, and she nods to the waitress who served her. Her cab is close but she’s not willing not to be there to meet it, she’s been burned by that before, and she taps her pockets a few times to ensure she has her keys, her card, and her phone. Everything else is replaceable when she’s this tired.

“Miss,” grabs her attention and she turns slowly. A woman stands in front of her and she frowns a little, confused as to why she recognises this pretty girl in a black blouse and soft hair, and it must show on her face because the woman blushes slightly and steps forward. “You forgot your sandwich.”

Clarke, in her tired state, feels the hot tears again but she blinks them back quickly and sets a smile on her. “Thank you. I feel like I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached today,” she admits and the woman smiles, almost sympathetic but also knowingly.

“That’d be a shame. It’s a nice head.”

The woman stop, clearly aware of how awkward that came across, and Clarke can’t do anything other than let out a soft laugh. She knows it was probably supposed to be a compliment but judging by how the woman has yet to close her mouth, she knows she’s probably stumbled over her words instead.

“I get by with it,” Clarke chuckles and the woman nods vigorously, clearly ready to be over this conversation, and she takes pity by reaching forward to grab onto the takeout bad that the woman is holding for her. “But thank you. You have a nice head too.”

The woman smirks, seemingly coming back to life, and tilts her head. “I don’t want to brag but it seems like it’s my hands that you like more than my head.”

Confusion coats Clarke’s features for a moment before she looks down, once more mortified. She flashes back to the moment outside of the bakery and she finds that, once again, she is holding the hand of a stranger. Only this time she’s grasped it firmly, like she was grabbing the bag handle, and she doesn’t seem to be letting go anytime soon.

“You...I...Oh my God,” she croaks out and the woman laughs again as Clarke pulls her hand back, this time taking the actual thing that was being offered to her and she uses her other hand to hold in front of her eyes as a shield to the amused woman. “I swear, this isn’t something I make a habit out of.”

Again, the woman smiles and waves her off like it’s a normal occurrence for her to have strangers hold her hand. Although judging by her jawline and those deep eyes, Clarke can’t help but be sure that the woman isn’t exactly struggling for suitors. “I wouldn’t be against you making a habit out of it but don’t worry, your secret of hand holding with strangers is safe with me.”

“And who are you?”

Like some ill-timed fate, her cab appears and beeps it’s horn so loud that both women jump and Clarke spins on her heels to walk towards it. As much as she wants to know about this stranger, she really doesn’t want to walk all the way home with shaking legs and a tendency to grab onto random people.

“Lexa,” the woman says as Clarke gets in the cab and opens the window to keep speaking to her. “I’m Lexa Woods.”

Before Clarke can reply through the open window, the car moves off like he’s on a mission to beat a world record for the single most drop-offs made by a _Lyft_ driver. When she looks back, the woman is already walking off but she’s sure--somewhere inside of her--that it isn’t the last she’ll see of her.

\---

“I heard about those twins in your care,” Niylah says as she passes by Clarke’s open door. She leans against the wood, her hip cocked to the side, and waits until Clarke has finished tidying up unnecessary items before continuing. “Want to talk about it?”

Clarke shakes her head, not willing to think about those poor boys just yet, and puts her hands behind her neck. It stretches her shoulders and her chest and she sighs, feeling like her lungs are completely full for the first time in days. “I held that girls hand again today,” she says instead and when she opens her eyes, Niylah is laughing silently. “Want to hear about that instead?”

Niylah nods and walks into the room and for the first time all day, Clarke feels normal.

**III.**

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Clarke, please do this for me?”

And fuck, if helping others wasn’t her weak spot. “I hate things like that. Anything spooky, scary or supernatural doesn’t belong on something called a _Fun_ fair.”

“Well this one has a haunted house, like every other funfair in America, so can you please just woman up and come with us because Bellamy really wants to do it but he’s trying to be a gentleman. Come on, it’ll be fun,” Octavia persists and Clarke frowns at why she needs to go just to make Bellamy happy.

They’d decided after their fourth date, another unsuccessful attempt at dating with no chemistry, that despite Bellamy’s crush and Clarke’s eager need to please people it just wasn’t going to work. It was amicable and, after the meal and a nice walk through the park, they parted ways and went back to being friends like the whole ordeal hadn’t happened. Bellamy was fine with it, even going as far as to ask Clarke’s advice for an upcoming date with the swim coach at his school.

Everyone else, it seemed, hadn’t received the memo.  

“You think rock climbing is fun, Octavia. We have widely different opinions on what we think is enjoyable,” she snarks but she finds herself already walking with Octavia back to where Lincoln and Bellamy are, clearly discussing something deep enough that they barely notice the girls arrival. “Do you need me to hold your hand in the haunted house, Blake?”

Bellamy laughs and shakes his head, some curls dropping into his eyes, and he pins her with a teasing look that makes Clarke want to roll her eyes until they get stuck in her skull. “I always thought it was you who had the penchant for holding hands with people, Princess.”

She narrows her eyes at the name, a name she can’t even remember adopting but somehow follows her around, and walks away from the group. If she hesitates by the door, a door in which the grim reaper stares at her somehow without a face, nobody says anything.

\---

Up to now she’s been screamed at by two dead guys, chased by a large pink rabbit, and grabbed by a hand she’s pretty sure she almost broke when she slapped it away.

Bellamy and Lincoln have apparently turned into children and are competing with one another over who can get through the next room without screaming and/or grabbing onto one another. Apparently, the more frightened they are the louder they laugh and Clarke has taken to just following their loud noises rather than actually looking where she walking.

Behind her Octavia doesn’t seem to be affected at all if her playing on her phone and taking selfies is any indication. But Clarke hates it, she hates how her heartbeat is speeding up and how she’s anxious before they move to walk into the next room. It’s all fake, and it’s all scripted, and she knows that her fear is irrational but that doesn’t make it go away and she’s going to make Octavia pay for this in one way or another in the future.

“Tasty, tasty girls exactly where I want them,” husks from behind Octavia and Clarke turns in time to see a large dark figure running towards them with a chainsaw and a maniacal laugh. It’s too much for Clarke and she shakes her head, ignoring how Octavia laughs and starts running with her, and they bolt towards the next room without any regard for who is in there or what is happening.

The whirr of the chainsaw grows louder, as do the excited screams of the participants, and Clarke pushes her way through them all to open the door. Next to her someone tries to push past her and Clarke isn’t down with that; instead she forces herself past and, the protector in her, reaches back to grab one of her friends hands and drags them with her into the mostly empty room. She doesn’t stop there and the hand she’s holding grips hers tighter as she decides enough is enough. There’s a huge exit sign in front of her and she bursts through it, ignoring the cheers and laughter and clapping of the crowd gathered outside to see the scared people running out of the haunted house.

“Holy shit, did you see the size of that guy? He was like a gorilla,” Clarke pants, bending her back backwards and puffing out deep breaths into the dark air around them. “I’m kind of hoping it ate one of the boys to be honest. There will be more space in the car on the way home.”

Next to her, there’s a little laugh. “I’d agree but we came in different cars so I don’t think it really affects me if ‘one of the boys’ has been eaten or not. Besides, I think the guy wanted the girls. Kind of sexist if you think about it.”

“No,” Clarke closes her eyes tightly and shakes her head. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

When she looks, there’s Lexa again. Her pretty eyes are lined with layers of eyeliner and she has her hair styled differently but it’s the same Lexa from outside the bakery, and from the bar, and she’s definitely holding her hand like she seems to have become accustomed to. A disbelieving laugh leaves Clarke’s lips but she doesn’t quite let go on the soft palm and gentle grip, instead she smirks and decides this time she’s actually going to speak.

“Are you following me?”

Lexa shakes her head and she feels her tug the hand she’s holding so they can move out of the way of the door where people are beginning to spill out in various states of fear and adrenaline. “I was in front of you. Are you sure you’re not the one following me?”

“Okay, that’s fair,” she admits but she’s stuck on the hand she’s holding and how both of them haven’t yet made a move to let go. She twists her fingers but Lexa moves with her and it makes a smile grow across Clarke’s cheeks, a warm pink flush starting from her chest and heating her up a little. “I’m Clarke, by the way. My IndyCar _Lyft_ driver didn’t give me chance to tell you last time.”

“Lexa,” the woman repeats, like Clarke forgot, and she pulls her hand away before Clarke can really formulate a response. “Your friends have survived it looks like.”

Looking behind her, she can see Bellamy looking for her and next to her she feels Lexa struggle to find something to do with her hands now she’s nothing holding hers. She puts them into her pockets and Clarke does the same, feeling cold now her hand isn’t surrounded by long fingers, and she smiles when Bellamy finally notices her. “I should go.”

“It was nice running into you again,” Lexa says and it sounds genuine enough that Clarke bites her lip, twisting her body so that she can lean closer to the pretty stranger she’s finding more and more intriguing. “Have a fun rest of your night with your boyfriend and your friends.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says and it’s automatic. It’s not until Lexa has given her a little wave and walked off does she realise what she’s just admitted to--a fact that is so far from the truth it’s laughable--and she sighs as she notes she’s definitely missed her chance to correct herself. “Fuck.”

\---

In the car Bellamy looks at her, his lips shiny with grease from whatever snack he decided was tantamount to his happiness to buy, and nudges her with his leg. “Who was that girl?”

“Lexa,” Clarke sighs, still annoyed with herself. There’s hope in her though that they’ll cross paths again and she smiles to herself, ignoring how Bellamy looks at her like she’s crazy, and leans her head against the window.

**IV.**

Through some stroke of shit karma, Clarke doesn’t run into Lexa again for three weeks. Work has her completely bogged down and when she isn’t there she finds herself sleeping, eating and attempting to be a sociable adult like television tells her to be. Each day comes with a new set of challenges and while she tends to thrive under difficult circumstances, she can feel the exhaustion beginning to set in and when she makes the mistake of looking at the clock it only serves to make her more tired.

“How are you holding up, Griffin Jr?” Jackson asks as she sweeps by the nurses station and she rolls her eyes at the name, another reminder of her mother, and she takes the lollipop from her mouth that she’s been keeping for the tiniest amount of sugar she’s been craving.

She makes a show of checking the time and smiles, far too wide, at one of her favourite surgeons in the hospital. “Twelve hours in and I’m still in the same place I was when I started my shift, it feels like.”

“Usual day then?”

“Usual day,” Clarke laughs. She moves away from the station, ready to continue down the corridor to where her favourite coffee machine is, when she sees her. Immediately her heart sinks because every single time she’s seen Lexa shes been smiling, or laughing, and now she’s sat stoic and stressed and bouncing her knee.

It doesn’t take her long to make a decision and she walks down the corridor to the coffee machine. She barely remembers Lexa’s last name, so she doesn’t know why she thinks she’ll know what she likes to drink, but she makes two coffees regardless and packs her pocket with sweeteners and cream just in case. Her break isn’t going to last much longer but there’s a sad girl in the waiting room of her area and she needs to know why.

“My mom always told me to buy a girl a drink before you hold their hand,” Clarke opens with and her heart starts beating again when Lexa looks up with shock and a smile. “I might have done it in the wrong order but I’m definitely willing to start on the right foot from today.”

Taking the drink Lexa smiles and she moves her bag from the seat next to her, inviting Clarke to sit down. “Too bad, I was kind of hoping this strange girl would hold my hand again.”

“Not this time I’m afraid. Infection Prevention,” she jokes and it’s so lame that she has to take a sip of her coffee to hide the embarrassment of what she has just said. Next to her Lexa laughs softly and it’s such a sweet noise that Clarke looks at her, just to witness it in person.

“Do you think about the things you’re saying or do you just let them happen naturally?”

At that, Clarke laughs and for the first time all day feels genuinely awake. “This is all natural, I’m afraid.”

“I like it,” Lexa whispers and Clarke shifts happily where she is, inexplicably finding fulfillment in the fact that Lexa _likes_ her. Even if it’s just that tiny amount it’s enough for her and she’s not yet willing to work out why that is. “My nephew choked on something and we got it out at the bar but my sister brought him here to check he hasn’t hurt himself more.”

“That’s good,” Clarke encourages but there’s still a pale look in Lexa’s eyes that isn’t moving and she presses her lips together, her fingers scratching against the side of the paper cup in her hands. “Watching a child choke is understandably terrifying. Are you okay?”

Lexa nods once and turns to her. “It was awful,” she admits and Clarke knows that this is probably the first time she’s admitted that outloud today. “I didn’t know what to do for about five seconds. I thought…”

“He’s okay now. That’s all you need to focus on,” she doesn’t mean to interrupt her but Clarke has enough experience dealing with ‘what if’s’ from concerned family members that she knows she can’t let Lexa go down that road; there’s nothing good that ever comes from it. “Are you okay?”

“I...I think I will be. Excuse me,” Lexa says and she places her cup down before she stands to walk towards the bathroom, her steps almost robotic, and before Clarke can really think to move after her she hears the familiar noise of her pager beeping at her. It’s ill-timed, and she curses it, but her work comes before this virtual stranger.

She leaves Lexa a note on the chair as an apology and she hopes it’s enough for her for now.

It’s only when she’s washing her cold hands does she realise the last time they genuinely felt warm was when Lexa was holding one in the cold night at the fair.

\---

There’s a complication with one of the kids later that day. She goes from being perfectly stable to going into severe cardiac failure within the blink of an eye. All of Clarke’s training kicks in and when it’s over and the medical team are elated that the young girl is stable again, Abby Griffin gives her praise. It’s rare she gets it, even rarer it’s spoken in public, and the smile on her face doesn't fade for the rest of her shift.

However, her mind slips back to Lexa again. It seems it doesn’t matter how busy she keeps getting, or how much work she has to do, or how many people want to speak to her; she thinks of Lexa. And it’s strange because she doesn't think she’s spoken more than fifty words to the woman but she’s still finding ways to infiltrate her mind and while Clarke might not be the most observant person in the world when it comes to her lovelife, even she can see the signs.

But she knows next to nothing about the woman except she is terrible at flirting under pressure, she has incredibly beautiful eyes and she is under the impression that Clarke is dating Bellamy Blake.

Ah.

She forgot about that.

\---

“Are you working tomorrow, baby Griffin?” Jackson asks as she pulling on her coat and she laughs at his change in name for her. Ever since she mentioned that she didn’t like _Griffin Jr._ Jackson has been finding more and more elaborate ways to call her anything but her actual name. Mini Griff was her favourite for a while but she always enjoys what he has to offer.

She nods though and he gives her a soft smile. He never seems to leave the hospital if she’s honest and she would ask but her stomach grumbles loudly and she is so ready for food that she think she’s capable of stealing it from a homeless person. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jackson,” she says and he nods at her, already picking up his belongings for another round of observations.

“So your obnoxious hours here are the reason you almost fell asleep three times in my bar, are they?”

Clarke smiles at the voice automatically and looks to her left to see Lexa sitting on the plastic seating near the doors. She’s been home to change, that much Clarke can see, but she doesn’t know how long the girl has been waiting for. There’s a warm coffee in her hand that she hands over to Clarke though that tells her it can’t have been _too_ long and she feels less guilty.

“Three times is an exaggeration.”

“I was watching you,” Lexa says and then stops mid stride as they’re walking out of the doors towards the parking lot. “That wasn’t supposed to be that creepy. I just meant that I was observing you from a distance, in a zero capacity creepy way.”

“Sure,” Clarke soothes and stops on the sidewalk, aware she’s walking in the complete opposite direction of the exit and the walk home she’s so used to making. “Is that why you’re here? To make fun of me for falling asleep and to justify your non-creepy staring habits?”

Lexa shrugs, taking a sip of her own drink. “Partly. And I wanted to thank you for today. Sitting in that waiting room alone with my thoughts wasn’t much fun, you really helped.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You did more than most,” Lexa pushes and Clarke lets her, knowing that it’s something important for Lexa to say. “He’s okay, by the way. A little shook up but not enough to ask for ice-cream on the ride home.”

“A guy after my own heart.”

There’s a smile that Lexa has that warms Clarke and when it’s dedicated to her, it practically beams out of her. “Can I give you a lift home as thanks? It was initially going to be coffee but then you took forever to actually finish your shift and now I feel bad making you walk home when you look as tired as you do.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Mostly just an excuse to spend some more time with you.”

And really, how can Clarke say no to that?

\---

She barely even notices when she does it again. The conversation on the ride home is the easiest conversation that she has ever had. It moves smoothly from subject to subject and Lexa makes her laugh almost as much as she makes Lexa laugh, and it’s nice--It’s nice to feel appreciated and wanted and real.

The lights are red, and Clarke is laughing, and when her hand lands on Lexa’s which is resting on the gearshift neither of them say anything. Instead Lexa links their fingers together slowly before moving off, listening to the vague directions a blushing Clarke attempts to give.

**V.**

_The Next Turn._

Clarke has never truly paid attention to the name of the bar that’s halfway between the hospital and her home. She just knows the friendly atmosphere is what keeps her coming back; well that and the food and the knowledge that it’s where Lexa works. After her lift home they didn’t run into each other much again and despite Clarke’s various attempts at getting breakfast before work or something to eat when she finishes, Lexa seems absent.

Until today, she smiles.

There, behind the bar, is Lexa and Clarke feels herself grow excited at the image. She still knows next to nothing about the girl, knows even less about why she’s so eager to be around her, but she’s willing to let fate play its part this time. As she approaches Lexa turns, smile already in place to greet her customer, but it turns genuine at the sight of Clarke and that does absolutely nothing to ease the burst of butterflies in her stomach.

“If you’re going to ask for a beer and you’ve only just got off of your shift I’m going to have to say no,” Lexa teases and Clarke narrows her eyes, a note forming in her mind to tell Monty, the other barback, to quit telling on her. “I like you just enough that I can’t let you use alcohol as a crutch.”

Clarke smirks and sits on the stool, her arms folding on the bar to hold herself up. “You own a bar, isn’t your livelihood dependant on people using alcohol as a coping mechanism?”

“People. Not you.”

“Oh,” Clarke blushes and the words do something to her that she wasn’t expecting. Instead of pushing her nerves, Lexa simply waits for Clarke to order and puts down the glass she’d been cleaning with a soft touch. “I mostly came in for some lunch, if that’s okay?

“Definitely. I’ll get Echo to seat you and then I’ll join you, how’s that for excellent customer service?”

“Don’t you have someone who’d be better company?”

“I’m the boss. You won’t get better than me,” Lexa smirks and she walks off before she can see the wide-eyed, slack-jawed, image Clarke sets out at the very thought of Lexa being a boss.

She really needed to get laid. Or, at the very least, do more than simply hold a person’s hand.

\---

Lunch is simple. Clarke orders a chicken caesar wrap and Lexa settles for a panini that contains way more melted cheese than a girl with a figure like Lexa should be allowed to eat.

They talk endlessly about everything and nothing and it takes Clarke more than a few attempts to stop staring at this girl the universe seemed to be sure she should meet. She wonders if she made it up, randomly holding this woman's hand in public, but she knows she didn’t and it’s hard to think of a time before Lexa.

At least, she’s hard-pressed to think of a time she smiled this much.

“So, boss lady, why _The Next Turn_? It’s the strangest name I’ve heard,” Clarke smirks as she sips at her water. Across from her Lexa shrugs, the tight material of her blouse tugging over her chest, and Clarke has to concentrate ridiculously hard on looking everywhere but that little button holding on for dear life.

She dabs at her mouth with a napkin and Clarke scolds herself for finding _that_ cute. “It’s funny,” she admits, her hand coming to rest on her chin and her other hand extends across the table in a relaxed fashion. Truthfully Clarke is endlessly fascinated with her hands; their length, how smooth they are, the damn temperature is attractive if she tries hard enough. She knows it’s ridiculous, but why fight fate when fate is clearly fighting so hard for them to be in each others lives?

“It’s noticeable.”

“It’s an excuse. You’re at the bar and your wife calls you, asks where you are. All you do is tell her you’re at _The Next Turn,_ and you’re not lying,” Lexa smirks and Clarke kinds of hates herself for actually laughing at the reasoning behind the name of the bar. “So the wife thinks they’re at the next turn home.”

“I get it. Thanks.”

Lexa, now, is laughing and Clarke sighs happily. “I just wanted to make sure you understood the joke because I definitely did not when my sister said it the first time,” Lexa says and the fact Lexa admits that is even funnier to Clarke somehow and she doubles over. How the woman can go from one extreme to another so quickly is constantly wonderful and it’s becoming more and more addicting to see all of the different sides of this girl. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one willing spending time with me. Surely that says more about you,” Lexa retorts and Clarke can do nothing but roll her eyes at her. Her fingers tap on the table a few times and Clarke looks at her, the relaxed atmosphere making her feel better than she has in a long time. “Then again I don’t know if I can trust your judgement. You mixed up mine and your boyfriends hands, you can’t be that observant.”

Clarke knows what she’s doing, the fishing and the questioning, and while it’d be fun to play along and tease the girl she really wants her to know that Bellamy isn’t her boyfriend and that she is definitely, completely, utterly single. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m single,” she says, and that seems like an amazing idea until Clarke remember she knows nothing about Lexa or her sexuality or relationship status. “I don’t know why I told you that. But, I mean, I wanted you to know about Bellamy. He definitely isn’t my other half.”

“Ah, so you _do_ just hold anyone’s hand,” Lexa teases but there’s relief on her face that can’t be hidden. “I should have known.”

“No. We were on a date but it was awful. We’re friends,” she replies and when she reaches out she doesn’t hesistate to link her fingers with Lexa’s. Because as much as she doesn’t know about Lexa, and there is a _lot,_ she’s sure Lexa has been fishing around for this answer. “Is this okay?”

When Lexa smiles, it’s answer enough.

\---

Lexa tells her she’s working until the late evening, ten being the earliest she’ll leave, and Clarke leaves so that Lexa can get back to work without distraction. She doesn’t want to leave and the several ridiculous conversation starters that Lexa tries let’s Clarke know that she doesn’t want her to go either.

Her phone in her hand Clarke sends off a quick text to Niylah, telling her she has news for her, and she jumps a little when a hand touches her shoulder.

“My mom told me you should give a girl your number before you take her on a date. I might have done things in the wrong order but I’m willing to start on the right foot from today,” Lexa grins and Clarke can’t help but laugh, holding her phone out for the girl to take.

“Do you practice the things you say or do they come naturally?”

Lexa laughs, aware of the repeat conversation and there’s a giddy feeling in Clarke’s stomach she can’t ignore. “Unlike you, I have to practice being like this.”

And really, Clarke has never been so pleased to have grabbed a strangers hand in all of her life.

**And one time…**

“Italian or Mexican?”

“Neither. Both are too messy for a first date.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and huffs, turning to her friends sitting on her bed like this is a romcom movie they’ve been anticipating all year, and puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve embarrassed myself in front of this girl more times than I can count. A little tomato on my chin isn’t going to put her off,” she defends before a blind panic washes over her and she looks up at her friends, worried. “Will it?”

“Probably,” Raven supplies unhelpfully and Clarke groans, tilting her head back to the ceiling and wondering how on Earth she managed to land herself with these idiots as friends when there are over seven billion people in the world. “But she likes you, Clarke. I’ve seen the messages.”

At that, Clarke looks up. “How?”

“You get into some kind of daze when you’re texting her. You barely even try and hide it,” Niylah nods and Raven points at the blonde like that’s explanation enough for the two of them reading her messages. “Plus you have the option that the entire message shows on your screen. Really, that's your fault.”

“You’re both terrible people and I hate you equally.”

Raven laughs and lays back on her bed as Clarke pulls the white shirt over her head. “Believe me, Griff. I know.”

\---

Nervous Lexa is the cutest Lexa is the world and there is nothing, and nobody, who can tell Clarke different. She’s a mess of stuttered words and false starts and she keeps filling up her water even if she’s only taken a sip.

It’s adorable, and amazing, and Clarke has no idea how she became the confident one but she likes it.

“You know, you’ve already taken me on a date in your mind. Why are you so nervous now?”

Lexa starts at that and the flower she was arranging to be straighter rips a little in her hand, the petal fluttering to the table, and she looks up with a startled expression. “I’m not nervous.”

“So you just killed a flower because it was fun?”

“Shut up,” the woman laughs and Clarke relaxes a little now that Lexa is relaxing. There’s a soft wash of water next to them from the river and the candle blows in the breeze a little. Above them heaters keep them warm but Clarke likes the difference of the cold breeze mixed with the warm alcohol and nerves that Lexa brings. “I just didn’t expect this to be a thing. It’s been a long time for me and sometimes I can be a little delayed in reading the signals.”

Clarke nods, understanding. “I held your hand more times than I held any of my exes. I think it’s safe to say you knew you stood a chance.”

“Most of those times you didn’t realise it was me.”

“Semantics,” Clarke brushes off and it causes a smile in Lexa that Clarke wishes she could give herself an award for. It makes her eyes crease and there’s soft crinkles at the corners of her lips that Clarke is desperate to kiss. “Thank you for being the one to ask me though. I don’t think I ever would have been able to finally say anything.”

“Why? You always seem so put together,” Lexa asks and Clarke wonders if she’s being genuine until the girl looks at her patiently.

“You make me nervous,” she admits and at that Lexa blushes.

In truth, it’s the best not-first date she has ever been on.

\----

They walk next to the river on the way home and pass the time talking about their families. Clarke tells her about her dad, about how he was taken so suddenly, and Lexa gifts Clarke with the knowledge that she was adopted when she was four. She never wanted to find her real parents and ironically Polis, the restaurant Bellamy took Clarke too, is owned by Lexa’s adoptive mother. Clarke talks about her career as a pediatrician, and how hard it is to study and work at the same time, and Lexa admits that she wanted to be a firefighter as a child because she got her own ladder. They share stories of scars and chicken pox and how they both went to college and forgot an entire year because of parties.

Her hand cold, Clarke wonders how long it’ll be before she works up the nerves to hold Lexa’s again. She doesn’t mind being the one to make the first move, it always seems to have been her, and she inhales slowly before the familiar feeling of fingers tangling with her own. When she looks across Lexa is red but she looks determined and calm all at once; she’s an enigma, Clarke decides, but she’s more than excited to figure her out.

“I’ve wanted to be the one to hold your hand first for a while,” she admits and Clarke warms at the words, at how sweet and innocent they sound coming from someone so strong. “I don’t know why I couldn’t, but now that I have I doubt I’ll be able to pull my hand away.”

Clarke smiles before she stops walking, bringing Lexa to a natural stop with her, and she waits until green eyes meet her own. “I’m fine with holding your hand for as long as you want me to,” she says.

\---

Later, in bed, as Clarke moans into Lexa’s mouth she grins at the image of their joined hands on the pillow next to her head.

Definitely worth grabbing a strangers hand in public.

  
  



End file.
